When Darkness Loves Us

In the car, Fern had an opportunity to look at Dr. Goldman. He looked successful. He was dressed well, in what looked to be an expensive pinstripe suit, his car was new, and he carried with him quite an air of authority. He was small-boned, with a large nose, but his eyes were dark brown and friendly, and laugh lines around his mouth showed a face that knew humor.

“How was the trip?”

“Oh, fine. Long.”

“I bet. Nervous?”

“Yes.”

“Well, don’t be. Ralph filled me in on all the particulars of the case, and I don’t think we’ll have any problems at all.”

“Ralph?”

“Doctor Pearson.”

“Oh. Do you know him well?”

“We’ve had a few mutual patients.”

“Oh. How long will this take?”

“It will be about three weeks after the surgery before Martha can travel. We’ve arranged a bed in the hospital for you, so you can stay there.”

Three weeks.

The hospital was a bustle of hushed activity. The antiseptic smell, not unpleasant, was pervasive. Dr. Goldman escorted them quickly into an examination room, where he washed his hands while Fern talked baby talk to Martha and settled her down on the table. Then Fern undressed her at the doctor’s request.

Very gently, Dr. Goldman removed the gauze patch. As many times as Fern had changed that dressing, it never failed to shock her that under that white square was a gaping hole in her daughter’s face. She looked better, she looked even normal with the bandage in place.

Dr. Goldman listened to Martha’s heart, checked her mouth, ears, and eyes, weighed her, and wrote down the dimensions of the hole. Martha began to fuss after a while, so after the doctor had applied a fresh gauze patch, Fern dressed her, rewrapped her, then sat down to nurse while they talked. The surgery would be tomorrow morning. No sense in putting it off. It should be easy, routine even. He would take a patch of skin from her hip and fashion a new nose from it, sew it into place with a little metal brace to keep it in shape. It would look a little large to begin with, but her face would grow into it, and in the end, it would be perfect. Easy.

Easy. Fern couldn’t imagine such a thing.

A pleasant nurse helped get them settled in their room. Martha went directly to sleep in the crib; Fern hung her clothes in the little locker-closet by the washbowl. It didn’t take very long. She wrung her hands, then wiped the sweaty palms on her dress and wandered about the room, it had a nice view of the city, but the city wasn’t very nice to look at. Maybe if Harry were here, they could see a few things, but probably not. He didn’t know how they were going to pay for it as it was. Fern didn’t tell him that the town had taken up a collection. That would be her little secret. It wasn’t enough for the whole thing, but it would cover a major portion of the cost, she was sure.

She looked down at the sleeping baby. Absently, she brushed the reddish wisps of hair around on her little head. Such a beautiful child. And in the morning she would be put to sleep and taken into a room where they would cut her side and her face and make a new nose. Fern felt a sympathetic pain in her nose at the thought of it. Time for a walk.

She went out into the corridor of the hospital, noting her room number, 222. Trays of food were being served to patients—the smell stirred up hunger. She’d forgotten all about eating. She went to the nurse’s station. A fat nurse stuffed tight into her uniform was writing on charts. Fern cleared her throat, and the nurse looked up.

“Yes?” She had a surprisingly pleasant face, even though her eyebrows were picked almost clean.

“I’m Fern Mannes. I’m staying with my daughter in room Two twenty-two.”

“Oh, yes. Have you had dinner yet?”

“No.”

“Well, I guess they haven’t gotten to your room yet. Why don’t you go back in there and wait, and I’m sure a tray will be right up.”

“Oh, okay. Um, I was wondering. It’s kind of hard just waiting, you know, and I was wondering if there maybe was a patient here that, you know, never got any visitors? Maybe I could visit with them for a while tonight and tomorrow, while my baby’s . . . while my baby’s in . . .”—she took a deep breath—“surgery.”

The nurse stood up. She towered over Fern. “Why, that’s a wonderful idea. And as a matter of fact, we have a lovely woman who’s been here quite a while. Her son comes now and again, but he’s busy with his own family—you know how it is. Mrs. Stimson. Room Two twenty-three, right across the hall from you. She’d be delighted to have some company.”

“Oh, thank you. Thank you very much. Are you here . . . ?”

“Three to midnight. My name’s Gloria. You give a shout if you or your baby need anything at all, okay?”

“Thank you.” Fern felt strange. This was an odd place. She turned to go back into her room, but the thought of that barren place with nothing to do didn’t appeal to her. She turned right instead and knocked softly on the door to Mrs. Stimson’s room.

“Come.”

Fern pushed the door open and poked her head in. “Mrs. Stimson?”

“Yes, what is it?”